


recipe

by dramaturgicallycorrect



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Baking, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-12
Packaged: 2018-09-08 05:45:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,473
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8832748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dramaturgicallycorrect/pseuds/dramaturgicallycorrect
Summary: “You don't use... recipes?” Liam repeats, mostly because he’s too baffled to even process that.
  “When you bake, Liam, you bake from the heart.”  “And a recipe, I'm pretty sure.”  Harry looks affronted, like Liam has personally insulted him, his dog, and the street he grew up on. “I don't need instructions, Liam.” [Or Harry's made some holiday treats and he needs a taste tester.]





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [colourexplosion](https://archiveofourown.org/users/colourexplosion/gifts).



> This is for Jessi, light of my life, completely dedicated to that time we made cookies and she refused to use a recipe. I love you. #theflourcrown forever.
> 
> Thanks again to Sabrina, my baker fic partner in crime, and all the lovely authors who've made this fest the highlight of my day every day you post.

The day Liam gets invited to the _lads lads lads_ group chat, he feels a little like he’s going to buzz out of his skin. He’s put a lot of time and effort into this particular friend group -- logged his attendance at parties he didn’t want to go to, been the butt of far too many jokes, has let the four of them practically grope him in the name of removing all boundaries, helped one of them move. He’s firmly moved from _Niall’s flatmate Liam_ to _our mate Liam_.

He’s earned it.

Harry’s the one who loops him in with an invitation: _I’m trying out some new holiday treats this weekend, will need some taste testers. - H_

Harry always signs his texts, even though Liam's only ever talking to Harry, and there’s a little thumbnail with a picture next to his name. Liam still likes it, honestly, it’s a bit like they’re writing old timey letters, delivered by telegram or carrier pigeon or something. Harry’s a bit unique like that, texting proper enough that he makes Liam’s misspellings look ridiculous.

Liam just likes to answer quickly, is all, doesn’t like to keep people waiting on him. The intention is there, at the very least, if the grammar isn’t.

The responses flood in pretty fast:

_Nah, thanks, mate, watchin my figure .._

**_i’m busy that day sozzzz_ **

**_i mean all weekend probably_ **

**_very busy either way_ **

_Dont like sweets thanks harold !!_

Liam frowns down at his phone, knows there’s not a day in any of their lives they’ve had a diet, and Niall loves sweets more than anything on this earth. He’s heard that Harry likes to bake, but he’s never had the opportunity to try any.

Liam’s not quite sure where to dive in -- he’s not been introduced, formally, though he knows each of them has his phone number because they’ve all texted -- and in the amount of time he takes roiling with crippling anxiety just trying to respond to a text, he’s too late.

 _Ah._ is Harry’s first reply. Followed by _Okay, maybe next time_.

 _ill do it!_ Liam answers quickly. He can almost picture the frown staining Harry’s face, the disappointed turn of his lips. Liam would never see that look on Harry’s face again, not if he could help it.

A new chat pops up shortly after, one with everyone but Harry.

 _Payno listen_ , Louis starts, before Nick says, _Louis, don’t_ , and Niall follows it up with _aww let him go_. All before Liam can even say hello.

So Liam says, _Hello?_

 _Disregard,_ answers Louis, _this group chat will self-destruct in 5… 4..._

Then there’s nothing for a while. Followed by another text from Louis: _delete this group chat._

That’s fine then, he’ll keep Harry to himself. Harry’s a good lad, if a little odd, maybe his favorite one of any of them, not that he’d be quick to admit it. He doesn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings, of course, not when Niall was the one to bring him in in the first place, Louis insists he’s everyone’s favorite, and the rest of them -- well, they’d probably be fine with it.

His phone goes long enough without a response that Liam thinks maybe he’s overstepped. Harry’s invited him, sure, but they must not have a strong enough relationship for one-on-one time, the thought of which threatens to break Liam’s heart where he stands.

He taps out about seven different ways to give Harry an out when his response finally comes.

 _I’d love that_ , _Liam, thank you_.

\--

Liam didn’t know what to wear and didn’t know why he stressed over it for two full hours before he arrived at Harry’s front door. He wants to look nice, really, but he honestly should have prepared to get a bit messy, perhaps. Any time he’d ever tried to help his mum in the kitchen as a kid, he’d end up with more batter down his front than he ever had in a bowl.

That’s how Harry finds him, staring down at his chest, wondering if this button down he got from his sister for his birthday is perhaps overkill.

“Hi, Liam, hi,” he says and goes in for the hug, which -- well, that rather answers that question quickly. Liam knows whatever’s on Harry’s maroon apron is smearing on his nice shirt, but he can’t find it in himself to care. He keeps his arms planted firmly around Harry’s back, hanging on to let Harry end the hug until he remembers Harry never ends hugs first.

Liam pulls away, but it feels reluctant, like he’s got to tell his arms to behave and do as he says. Harry’s eyes widen at the sight of Liam’s flour-smudged shirt.

“Oh, shit, actually. I was worried about this.” Harry disappears off further into his flat and Liam takes it upon himself to close and lock the door before he finds his way to the kitchen. He’s not been here before, they usually get together and Niall’s or Sandy’s, and Liam can see why. It’s not small exactly, this flat, just… Liam thinks Harry would call it minimalist. There’s maybe enough to it to accommodate two people.

Liam’s just glad he’s been chosen as the second person.

“I got you an apron.” Harry holds up the apron and it unfolds like a waterfall -- a waterfall of Batman’s torso, which is absolutely sick and Liam absolutely loves it.

“Oh,” Liam says, his cheeks pinking an embarrassing amount. So he ducks his head and allows Harry to loop the apron over it because he’s definitely not _hiding_. He’s just. Excited. But trying to keep it cool. “Thank you so much. I dunno that I’d be that useful, honestly.”

“No -- you don’t have to -- I just thought we would be. Apron buddies together. Please don’t, in fact, I insist that you just sit there and do nothing but taste.”

“I think I can definitely manage that.”

Harry pulls out one of the two chairs at his kitchen table and Liam settles in with a grateful smile. “Well, Harry, I don’t think I’ve ever been told why you like to bake so much.”

“I used to be a baker,” Harry says, crouching down to take a peek into the oven. “Well mostly I swept the floors, but sometimes I baked. And Barbara -- she’s the one that had the bakery I worked in -- she said I had too much potential, you know, to stay at the bakery. Which honestly, I didn’t think that was really, um, fair, because it’s a noble profession, baking, and I didn’t really think it was settling. But she rather insisted I go _make something of myself_ , so here I am getting a law degree.”

“That’s very impressive.”

“It’s not nearly impressive as nearly being an Olympic athlete, but it’s what I’ve got.”

Liam opens his mouth to say something, a little startled, because he doesn’t quite recall telling Harry that, but Harry clears his throat and starts chattering again.

“Before you arrived, I made some banana nut bread. Would you like to start there?” Harry produces the loaf on a cutting board, ready for slicing.

“Absolutely, bring it on.”

Liam’s excited to inhale the whole slice until he gets his first mouthful of it.

Liam swallows hard, tries to keep the grimace off his face. There must be something wrong with him, if Harry’s some sort of baker extraordinaire. Maybe this whole afternoon is going to be a wash because his taste buds have fucked off somewhere else, never to be seen again. Then Harry won’t make him anything else. Then Harry’ll be sad.

“What’d you think?” Harry prompts casually. He’s leaned against his counter like he hasn’t got a care in the world, even though he’s putting himself out there. Liam wonders what that must be like.

He has to lie, quick, just a quick bold faced lie, and it hurts to say, but it’s honestly worth it. “It’s, um -- I guess I don’t really like bananas, so it wasn’t for me.”

“You don’t… you don’t like bananas?”

“Not really in things. You know. I like a good banana, but I’m not wild about bananas in things. I guess.” He smiles encouragingly, doesn’t want Harry’s hopeful eyes to darken. “I bet the next one will be just perfect for me though.”

Harry taps a wooden spoon to his chin thoughtfully. “Mm, I’ve got some chocolate peanut butter surprise biscuits cooling, perhaps one of those.”

Those sound delicious, actually. Liam is immediately bolstered by that news. “What’s the surprise?”

Harry narrows his eyes. “I can’t tell you the surprise, Liam, then it wouldn’t be a _surprise_.”

Liam nods reasonably. “Of course, of course. What else?”

“I’m going to make some sugar cookies. I thought we could decorate some of them? I have some Christmas cutters. My favorite is the reindeer, I got plenty of red icing so we can do some of them up as Rudolph.”

“But not too many, because then he wouldn’t be as special.”

Harry looks surprised, pleased. “That’s exactly correct.”

\--

Harry doesn’t wash a single thing along the way, appears to have an infinite number of bowls and measuring cups and stand mixer whisks so that when he’s finished with one treat, he can move onto the next unencumbered. Liam wonders where he keeps all this stuff, because they all seem to be stuffed everywhere, and also wonders if it wouldn’t just do to maybe wash up a bit in between so he could reuse them.

Liam can’t actually take it anymore when Harry stands in the middle of his kitchen, his flour-drenched hands having dusted every cabinet handle and are now dusting his hips. He’s pouting because he can’t seem to find his fifth set of measuring cups _anywhere_.

“I’ll just -- how about I wash for a bit, yeah?”

“Liam, no,” he says, his eyes going wide like he’s absolutely terrified at the prospect. “No, you’re meant to -- you don’t have to do any work.”

“I’d like to. I feel a bit useless just sitting around waiting to be fed, really, like a king or something. Harry, come feed me grapes.”

“Okay.”

Liam pauses. “I was joking.”

“Right, of course.” Harry flaps a flustered hand and a cloud of flour lingers in the air after it.

Liam washes and talks and Harry bakes and talks, and it’s maybe the most they’ve ever said to each other human to human. Liam talks, he knows he talks a lot, and Harry tends to get all quiet when it’s the lot of them together, does a lot of intense staring that makes you feel both appreciated and a little unnerved. Liam gets a lot more out of him than he thought he would.

Harry’s got more than odd jokes. He’s also got odd thoughts and odd bits of trivia, and Liam struggles through what Harry calls an abridged comparison of baking soda and baking powder that doesn’t honestly sound abridged by any stretch of the word. But it’s a pleasure to listen to Harry to talk, knowing he doesn’t just spout off to anyone. Liam feels a bit chosen.

Especially when Harry pauses and says things that sound like he’s never said them out loud before.

“I get sort of, um, stressed? I guess. Like overwhelmed. Sometimes. And it’s nice to just detach, and like, bake. You can’t really think too much when you’re baking, right? You’ve got to pay attention to what you're doing or it'll all fall apart.”

Harry’s eyebrows furrow, creases forming around his face that make him look older than he has any right to. It makes Liam’s heart hurt for him.

“That sounds -- honestly, that sounds fabulous. Maybe I should take up baking.”

“It would be my pleasure to teach you everything I know.” Harry grins over at him, and Liam grins back. The look is gone just like that.

 _How’s it going_ , comes a text from Louis, outside of the group chat.

Liam stops to dry his hands, and answers, _brilliantly._

_Are you tasting with your dick or with your mouth_

Liam sneaks a look over at Harry, but he hasn’t looked up from his bowl. _i dont understand what tht means_

_You know exactly what it means_

Liam frowns and taps out quickly, _no i dont thats wyh i said that..._

A response doesn’t come after that and Liam thinks hard on it. He’s not putting his dick in any of it, but he doesn’t think Louis meant that. He looks down at himself, but it’s covered by Batman so no dice.

He looks over at Harry, who’s licking batter off his fingers in a long, slow drag, and instead of finding that extraordinarily unsanitary, Liam thinks it’s actually quite hot. That’s the edge he’s been straddling all afternoon, he’s just realized. It’s not that he wants to be Harry’s good mate. It’s that Liam very much wants to keep him for his own.

“Huh,” Liam says.

Harry looks up, his tongue still hanging out his mouth. “What’s that?”

Liam blinks four times, each one hardening the fact that not only does he like Harry, he’s pretty sure he _like_ likes Harry, has a big ole schoolboy crush on him. He’s proper keen on Harry.

And that's exactly the way he'll get kicked out of the group chat. Not exactly lad behavior, is it, pining after a good mate.

“Nothing,” Liam says after far too long. “What are you going to make next?”

“Pecan pie. I made this crust myself. I didn't have a food processor so I used a NutriBullet, I figure it's the same thing, right?” Harry chuckles affably.

Liam doesn’t honestly think so, but he doesn’t have any right to say. Harry’s the baker, he wagers, so Harry must know something.

But he’s starting to realize very slowly exactly why everyone else had bailed on the afternoon. Why Louis had tried to stop him.

“Just -- curious, but. What recipe is this?” he asks carefully.

Harry laughs at him. “I don’t use recipes.”

“You don't use... recipes?” Liam repeats, mostly because he’s too baffled to even process that.

“When you bake, Liam, you bake from the heart.”

“And a recipe, I'm pretty sure.”

Harry looks affronted, like Liam has personally insulted him, his dog, and the street he grew up on. “I don't need _instructions_ , Liam.”

“Okay, sorry.”

It's just -- Liam’s actually pretty certain he's right and Harry’s wrong and that you absolutely need a recipe because his mum used to say it was more like science than it was food. But Liam doesn't say anything, bites the inside of his cheek until the instinct to argue dies.

He _likes_ Harry. He likes him so much he has a crisis in the middle of Harry’s kitchen with nowhere else to go.

\--

Liam can only afford to take small bites of everything. Sometimes because he’s afraid to get too full to keep trying Harry’s treats and other times… Liam stresses with each treat he puts in his mouth. He keeps pressing a smile onto his face and nodding as earnestly as he can manage and dances his way around the truth. They’re not _lies_ , necessarily, because he never actually says they’re delicious, but they feel like lies. And every lie hits the bottom of his stomach as heavily as Harry’s terrible food does.

Only the iced croissants tasted like lard and the pecan pie like dirt and the cheese danishes like plastic -- it’s the best day of Liam’s life because he gets to spend it with Harry all to himself and the worst day of Liam’s life because he has to spend it lying to Harry.

The chocolate peanut butter surprise biscuit’s surprise -- although it shouldn’t have really been a surprise at this point -- is that they are utter crap.

“Have you got constructive criticism? I can take it, go on. Is it too much salt? I think I could have left it in the oven for about twenty seconds longer.” Harry’s dropped his casual stance, but instead gazes at Liam expectantly. Like Liam’s approval is the single most important thing he could ever hope to have.

And Liam -- he can’t do it. Louis was right. He’s been tasting with his dick -- although, honestly, he’s not really a fan of that phrase, it still sounds kind of disgusting. But he’s been letting his desire to make Harry smile overshadow everything.

“Honestly, Harry, they’re kind of… awful.”

Harry laughs. “Very funny.”

Liam doesn’t laugh. “Harry, have… Have you had any of these?”

“I don’t eat gluten. Or sugar?” Harry looks confused, the frown on his face has him talking slower than he normally does and turns statements into questions.

Liam pauses -- a baker that doesn’t eat his own treats. He doesn’t quite understand that, but he supposes Harry never does anything like a normal person does. That’s usually part of his charm. “Maybe you should... try... one.”

“Fine.” Harry takes a huge bite of the biscuit and immediately makes a face. What he says next is muffled by the wad of food in his mouth, but Liam gets the idea: “Oh my god, that’s inedible.”

“I know.”

Harry spits it all out into the sink. “Why does everyone always tell me this is the best thing I’ve ever made?”

“I think they’re just being nice?” Liam winces. “Not that I’m not nice. Harry, I _really_ like you, and I like that you like to bake and all, but. I dunno if I can eat any more of this. I'm so sorry.”

Harry’s lip curls down as he frowns, the deep furrowing of his brow casting a dark shadow over his face. He looks older again, defeated. He's meant to look like he did before Liam ate the banana bread, untouchable by everyone and everything.

“Harry, are -- are you okay? I’m sorry if it’s like -- you said you wanted my honest opinion.”

Harry shakes his head. “No, it’s nothing.”

“Tell me.”

“It was stupid to -- I knew it wouldn’t have worked.”

“I mean, probably not without a recipe -- ” Liam tries, but Harry cuts him off like he hadn't even noticed.

“I just wanted to impress you, so you’d finally bloody ask me out, and now it’s all gone to _hell_ because I’m actually absolute pants at baking, everything I’ve ever known about the world is a _lie_ , isn’t it.” Harry sounds a little desperate now, his hands flying in front of him. “Did I actually get a first at uni or were they just being nice? Am I going to pass the bar or is everyone just watching out for my feelings? This is the sort of thing that gives a guy a crisis of confidence, really, so I suppose you’re honestly better off.”

Liam blinks four times, each one filling his chest with warmth. “You wanted me to ask you out?”

“I thought maybe everyone bailed because they _knew_ , like, my giant bloody crush, but -- they all cancelled because they don’t want to eat my food, do they?” Harry’s face crumples pitifully, and Liam’s heart drags him straight over.  

He catches Harry by the waist, pulling him into a hug and pouring all of his warmth into it. “Hey, Harry, hey.”

“I’m fine, Liam, it’s fine.” Harry tries to pull away, but Liam holds firm. “It’s not even a big deal, just, like, forget I said anything.”

“It’s not not a big deal, you’re upset. It's okay you're upset.”

“I'm not upset,” Harry pouts, clearly upset.

Liam rubs a soothing hand up and down Harry’s back. “Every single one of us thinks you're brilliant, okay? You deserve everything you've ever gotten and more, you understand me? Hm?”

“Yes,” Harry says, muffled from where his face is pressed into Liam’s shirt.

“This is just a bit of a road bump.” Liam pulls him back, bracing his hands on Harry’s shoulders to look him in the eye. “Do you think -- maybe tomorrow I can text my mum for a recipe and we can try it my way a bit?”

Harry looks pained at the prospect, but he agrees. “If you insist.”

“Baking for our next date?”

Harry’s eyes widen, then his lips squirm like he's fighting a smile as his face works into something cool, obviously pleased. “Well, you’ve already got an apron.”

“I reckon that already makes me a baker.”

Liam kisses him, an innocent press that quickly shifts into something deeper, because Liam wants to taste him, he wants one good thing to come out of this. And it’s just -- they pull away quickly.

“You taste like that cookie, I’m so sorry, I can’t,” Harry groans.

Liam grimaces. “Yeah, have you got milk or something?”

“Soy milk.”

Liam tilts his head and bites his tongue. “Close enough.” They gulp down enough to get another kiss in. Then another. Then another.

\--

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading! If you need me, I'm [here.](http://wickershire.tumblr.com)


End file.
